Happy Brooks
by IlovesMesomeGlee
Summary: Dave Karofsky enters in Happy Brooks Mental instution. See how he handles it. Can he handle it? Heavily inspired by Girl, Interrupted. Warnings inside. I don't own Glee. Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello everyone! :) Welcome to a brand new story! :) Yay! Hahaha!**

 **This is heavily inspired by 'Girl, Interrupted'. That movie has a place in my heart. :)**

 **I know that movie was based on true events from a book. This story however is not. Its completely made up from my mind. Lol**

 **This takes place in the past. If you want to read what year exactly keep reading to find out.**

 **Warnings: This story talks about mental illness, cutting, suicide attempts, body issues, gender issues, homophobia, abuse and other various things. These things were too taboo to talk about back then. I'm not one to shy away from talking about these subjects. If this isn't your thing you can click out now. You have been warned.**

 **Its dark and scary. But remember- There is ALWAYS a light at the end of the tunnel.**

 **None of the Glee characters mentioned really know each other and are very different from the show. Keep this in mind when you read.**

 **Its from Dave's POV. He's sixteen years old here.**

 **Here are the characters that will be in this story, in no particular order-**

 **Dave Karofsky**

 **Sebastian Smythe**

 **Santana Lopez**

 **Brittany Pierce**

 **Blaine Anderson**

 **Sam Evans**

 **Mercedes Jones**

 **Kurt Hummel**

 **Rachel Berry**

 **Quinn Fabray**

 **There will also be a few OC's later on. I'll TRY to update as often as I possibly can but I'm pretty terrible at doing so. I'll try. Lol! :) I hope you guys give this a chance. :)**

 **I think that's all there is to say? I hope I'm not missing anything. If you have questions let me know. Please be kind.**

 **With all that said... Welcome to Happy Brooks... Enjoy your stay!**

 ***tips hat* :)**

Chapter 1

WHAM!

Dave's blurred eyes and wobbled head vaguely registered the vibrations of the slammed door. The effects of the previous night's sleeping pill (or pills – he was never sure what ALL of those pills were) were still in his system. The two passengers on either side of him simultaneously got out after the driver did.

Dave tried to sit up and realized something was holding him back. At first, he inanely kept trying and after a quick wobble of his head, he discovered his right arm was handcuffed to a bar. As his bearings were becoming more clear, he looked straight ahead, only to see a little fence in front of him.

"Am I," he wondered out loud to no one in particular, "in a police car?"

Defeated, he relaxed his body and heavily sighed. He should've been frustrated. He should've been scared. But instead, he just felt nothing. The previous few days were a blur of drugs and hospitals and screams and "don't do that, young man", and restraints... and even more drugs.

He turned his head to the left. Cornfields after more cornfields and after that, more of the same. Dave looked down at his lap. His arm was still bound by the offending metal and he hated it, the first real emotion he'd felt in recent memory. And then, he turned to the right and saw the place that would change his life forever.

An enormous, imposing brick structure stood before him. Looking a little weather-beaten yet functional, the building was at least five stories tall and was the only building in sight. On the front, in Art Deco lettering, were the initials, "HBMI". And below that, "Happy Brooks Mental Institution".

"I don't think," Dave muttered aloud, "I'm in Kansas anymore."

"You're not."

Dave's head whirled around and even bobbled a little as he looked up into the cold, emotionless eyes of a police officer. He didn't even register that his car door had opened! The cop stiffly pulled out his keys and removed Dave's handcuffs. As if on cue, he rubbed the little cuts on his hand from the steel, ignoring the other cuts already there.

"Let's go, son."

Dave blinked and deliberately pulled himself out of the car. The cop watched him look out into the cornfields.

"Don't even think of trying to escape, son." The cop added, shutting the door. "There's nothing for miles and miles around." Then, with that typical cop arrogance, he half-smiled at Dave. "Hell, Chicago's two hours from here."

Dave didn't bother to look surprised as he turned to face to old building before him. Meanwhile, the cop swiftly grabbed Dave's bicep and led him around the front of the car. It took him another two more steps before he realized who was waiting for him at the entrance.

His doctor – and his father.

Each of Dave's steps brought more and more recognition of what exactly was happening. His doctor, a psychiatrist, looked at him with the seriousness of a prisoner. Meanwhile, his dad Paul, simply looked away, a firm breeze blowing the wide lapels of his supremely tailored suit. His clean-shaven face was stone and everything about him said money.

Father and son passed each other. And neither said a word. And just as Dave approached the institutional doors, he glanced to the side and saw them already entering the police car.

And that was that.

A huge gate stood before Dave just inside the entrance. Harsh lights and yellow floors hurt his eyes. A guard, heavy-set and firm, briefly took some paperwork from the police officer and then he returned to his car. And as the doors clanged shut, Dave knew he'd be here a while.

A loud, obnoxious buzzer sounded and the metal gate automatically swung open. Before him stood an orderly – surprisingly young and very short.

"Take off your clothes," the little orderly said, "and put on these." Dave received, tossed through the air, a cream-colored pants and shirt uniform. Buzzers and clangs in the distance banged his ears and the echoes made them worse.

And the whole time he undressed, he was never tempted to cry or get angry or even try to escape. He glanced at the marks on his wrist and sighed. Of course, when he was halfway done changing clothes, the tiny orderly spoke up in a nasally voice.

"Do you have narcotics on your person?"

"No."

The lights above him got brighter.

"Do you have a history or do you have a mental illness?"

"They say I do."

The orderly pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Yes or no answers only. Do you have a history or do you-?"

"Yes."

As best he could, the orderly approached Dave slowly with an allegedly intimidating look in his eye. "You'll learn not to interrupt anyone here."

Dave fought off a smile. As much of an epic fail as the orderly's attempt at intimidation was, there was something in the way he said it that was foreboding. The small orderly stepped back to his original spot.

"Are you or have you ever been on street drugs?"

"No."

"Are you or have you ever been out of the country?"

"No."

"Are you or have you ever been a homosexual?"

Pause. "No."

"Are you or have you ever been a communist?"

"No."

The orderly smiled. "Get dressed.

"After that, Dave succumbed to some of the most thorough tests he'd ever experienced. A general physical, a motor skills test, a dental check, eyesight, bloodworm, urinalysis, etc. The whole process probably only took an hour but Dave soon realized that he was on THEIR time – not his.

Finally he was escorted back to those familiar yellow floors, towards his new home. At one point, he was in an elevator and didn't even know what floor he was on. He darkly wondered if he was high enough to jump out a window and sniggered. A nurse with him barely noticed.

Dave walked up to another two iron, gate doors, waiting for this orderly or that nurse to call a guard on a green telephone to let them through. Those same familiar buzzes and clangs sang through the air and Dave would just have to get used to them, he was told.

Finally, they reached a room not too far from the far wall.

"This is your room." The nurse announced. After a key unlocked the door, Dave entered the room.

He'd never been around so much white before. But the walls were dingy – like someone had placed dirty hands or feces along it. A narrow bed was to his left and he noticed the familiar iron mesh covering the only window. A fluorescent light flickered above and the door slammed shut behind him.

Dave wondered if he could truly relax and recover from the trauma of the last hour or so. With an incredibly labored sigh, he plopped down on the bed, feet on the floor, hands covering his face. A quick shiver coursed through him.

"Cold?"

"JESUS-!" Dave yelled, leaping off the bed.

The boy slid his long legs from his own bed to the floor and stood up. "Dang. I know I'm skinny but I didn't think I was invisible."

Dave's eyes widened. "I just... I didn't know you were... I didn't-"

"It's solid, pops."

"Pops?"

The boy half-smiled. "Sorry. My dad used to use that expression."

Dave said nothing.

"Hi." The boy amiably said. "I'm Sebastian. Sebastian Smythe."

Dave took the hand into his own cautiously.

"Dave. Dave Karofsky."

"Hello Dave". They released their hands. "Welcome to Happy Brooks." Then, a wicked smile erupted on Sebastian's face. "Are you happy yet?" Dave looked annoyed at the dumb joke.

"Sorry."

The boys took a moment to size each other up. After that, Dave looked around the room again but did not sit down or relax. However, Sebastian strolled around the little room.

"I know it isn't much," the boy began, "but at least it's groovy to have a roommate again."

Dave turned to face him. "How long you been here?"

"1934."

Dave looked bewildered.

"Oh! I though you asked how long this place has been here!" A silly laugh escaped Sebastian's mouth and it was the first nice sound Dave heard in a long time. He liked it.

"No," Dave said, "I asked how-"

"I know what you asked." Sebastian darkly replied. And then, with a soft tone, answered, "too long."

Dave sensed there was a whole other layer to this conversation and chose self-preservation over anything. But as he came out of his reverie, he noticed Sebastian looking off into the distance. Dave's possible new friend looked forlorn and Dave didn't want anymore of that. He had to think of something fast - strength in numbers, as they say.

"So..." Dave said, dipping his head a little towards him. "What's this about 1934?"

Sebastian paused for just a second before looking at him curiously. And then Sebastian's face lit up and Dave was rewarded with a boyish grin.

"Oh! That's when this place was built and founded by some old guy named Happy Brooks, hence the name of this lovely building."

"Golly Gee!" Dave exclaimed. "That's, like, thirty-five years ago!"

"I know! Ancient times!" They shared a teenage, hearty laugh. And then, Sebastian tried to look serious. "But they say this place is haunted."

Dave gulped. "H-haunted?"

Sebastian smiled widely. "Don't tell me you're afraid of ghosts?"

"I'm not!" Dave cried out. Sebastian knowingly smiled at him and Dave looked away.

"Well," the thin boy said, "legend says he shot his wife and then himself back in '45. Right in this very-"

Suddenly, the lock turned and the door opened. An ordinary orderly walked in and approached them.

"It's time for group. Bedder git down there naw."

And with that hefty announcement, the orderly turned and left the room, leaving the door wide open.

"Come on." Sebastian said already walking towards the hallway. And then, he threw his voice. "We bedder git down there."

Dave smirked and followed him. Soon they both emerged into the hallway and Dave wasn't as overwhelmed as he was when he arrived. He actually took the time to look at his surroundings.

Rooms were situated like a motel - side by side and across from each other. Every door was open now and he barely saw anyone. Those he did were in bed, usually lying down.

Suddenly, he heard an ear-shattering scream from up ahead!

"That's Hester." Sebastian casually stated. "But her real name is Rachel Berry."

Dave nodded and they kept walking. He noticed a newspaper and the date couldn't already be July 1968, could it? Dave also saw other patients around him walking towards wherever group therapy was that day.

"See her," Sebastian began, interrupting Dave's thoughts, "over there?" Dave followed his line-of-sight to see a pretty blonde girl stroking her belly and walking funny.

"Her name's Quinn Fabray. She thinks she's pregnant. Like, all the time. She's got Hysterical Blindness."

Dave knew that should've had some significance but it didn't register.

Sebastian made a right turn into an open room with white support pillars strategically placed in the open space. Metal chairs scraped on white linoleum floors as patients in white formed a white circle in the middle of the white room.

Sebastian escorted Dave over to where the chairs were and as Dave was distracted with grabbing his own, he felt Sebastian tap him on the shoulder. Dave looked up at him only to see Sebastian looking at a blonde, very cute boy around their age.

"That's Sam Evans." He announced. Dave too noticed the boy. "Eating disorder."

"Do you know," Dave began, half-smiling for the first time in a while, "everybody here and what's wrong with them?"

"Oh yes." And then Sebastian looked at him with something else in his eyes. "I may even know what's wrong with you."

Momentarily distracted, Dave stood motionless as the smaller boy laughed, grabbed his own chair, and carried it across the room.

The boys stay in silence for only a half a minute longer until a tall, overweight man in a white coat walked up to them. Dave immediately took notice. And in the corner of his eye, he noticed several orderlies come in after the doctor, but stationed themselves at the room's doors. It didn't take Dave long to figure out why they were there.

A nameless patient grabbed a chair for the doctor and he flashed an obligatory and temporary smile before he too sat down. Very soon after that, everyone went eerily silent.

"As many of you know," he began with forced, ugly seriousness, "I'm Dr. Draziw. We'll meet for group therapy every day at 10AM. No exceptions. Everyone must attend and you will be docked visitation rights-"

At this point, Dave tuned him out. Instead he counted about ten or so patients in group, including himself. Sebastian had been a great, albeit unusual, help in at least a few people's names. And then, he turned his attention back to the doctor, who was still speaking.

He was looking right at Dave.

A thunderous chill coursed through Dave's body. The doctor's lifeless eyes stared right through him and he was still addressing the group.

Finally, the doctor paused and looked away. But Dave kept his eye on him.

"Now," Dr. Draziw said, "let's begin group."

 **AN: Thank you all for reading! :) Is this good enough to continue? Let me know! :) Have a nice day!-ILOVESMESOMEGLEEX3**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hi Everyone! Welcome to chapter two.**

 **Wow! Thank you sooooo MUCH for your response on the first chapter! :)**

 **Thank you all for the support that inspired me to continue.**

 **Thank you to the reviews and followers! :)**

 **This starts where last chapter ended.**

 **Well...wasn't Dave's introduction to that place awful? Now, we get to see how he starts to adjust and meets other patients. And, of course, mental health doctors back then were MUCH different than they are now.**

 **I am using medical terms that were used back then. Some of these medical terms names have changed such as Hysterical Blindness which is no longer called that. And other conditions as well.**

 **A lot of research was done on Google so if I get anything wrong, I apologize. I'm trying not to offend anyone here.**

 **Quinn, Sam, Mercedes and Rachel are introduced here. More on the reasons they are here later. More patients will arrive as this story goes on. I just wanted to start off with these people first. Its just easier that way.**

 **Anyone get the Scream Queen connection to Rachel? :) lol if you do let me know. :) I love Scream Queens and wanted to use Hester somehow here but in a much more serious light. She wont be as comical as she is on the show.**

 **Please be kind. Enjoy!**

 **We are now in group therapy with Dave. Lets see how it goes...**

Chapter 2

"You know," Dr. Draziw said, pushing his glasses up along his nose, "your refusal to help yourself is contradictory to the psychoanalytical method."

The girl said nothing.

"If you can't participate," he added, "then you won't get better."

Again, the girl said nothing. The doctor sighed in frustration.

"Very well," he turned his head and motioned towards one of the orderlies at the door. The enormous soldier-like orderly took exactly two determined steps toward her.

" _I'M HESTER!"_ She screamed.

Dr. Draziw immediately put his arm in the air, halting the orderly. The white-clad soldier returned to his place at the door. Dr. Draziw slowly lowered his hand and his voice immediately softened.

"Now Rachel, you know-"

"Hester."

"Rachel."

"Hester."

"Rachel!"

Her voice softened, shoulders hunched. "H-Hester."

" _RACHEL_!"

She began to cry. He lowered his glasses, stared at her, and wrote something down on his pad. Suddenly, he looked up.

"Looks like," he began with disappointment tinged in his voice, "we have to up your medication...Rachel."

She opened her mouth to speak, glanced at the two orderlies by the door, and said nothing,

"Let's move on." He looked around the room, his jaw set firmly. Dave immediately hated him and no one made eye contact with him.

"Sam?"

The blonde boy shook a little but did look up. They stared at each other for a long moment before Sam wiggled a little in his seat. When he did that, Dave noticed he could see Sam's pelvic bone beneath his uniform.

"Well I..." Sam froze. Eyes were on him and he felt the pressure to speak. But when Dave looked at the doctor, he _AGAIN_ was staring at Dave.

"I don't feel..." Sam hesitantly began, "as fat...as I used to."

"Is that," the doctor began, "what you really think? Or is that what you think I want to hear?"

Sam's head shot up. "Oh no! It _IS_ the truth. It...is." Draziw peered closer. "I've... I've been looking...at..."

"Sam, have you been doing your exercises?"

As this exchange went on, Dave noticed nobody in this hodgepodge group of ten or so patients were speaking at all. This wasn't any group therapy that he ever experienced. But all he knew was that this doctor, this omniscient presence, controlled every single thing.

Dave glanced at Sebastian who refused to look anywhere but his lap. The boy's soft blonde hair was very short, contradictory to the common style of the day and Dave did not know why. But one thing became obvious to Dave about Sebastian's hair - the scalp looked flaky.

"-out you maintaining your recovery and focusing on your health."

"I am healthy, Doctor." Sam protested.

Draziw leaned forward. "Lift up your shirt."

Sam blinked. Twice. Then, he embarrassingly smiled. "I... I don't... Why?"

"Lift up your shirt."

Sam rolled his eyes and lifted it. Gasps filled the room.

"See? I'm close to perfect abs. I just need to watch-"

"No, you're not." _THIS_ voice came from somewhere else and not Dr. Draziw. Everyone turned to see Rachel pointing at Sam's protruding ribs. The skin was paler on his emaciated torso and some even turned away.

"You can drop your shirt now."

Sam did as he was told and said nothing.

"I think," Draziw said as he was writing in his notepad, "that everyone around you would disagree."

Dave couldn't believe he was agreeing with Draziw but the evidence was clear. The cute blonde boy needed help. Fast. Dave glanced at Sebastian who had an unreadable expression on his face.

"Quinn?"

Dave almost forgot about the beautiful blonde girl sitting in the corner to his right. He even had to peer a little just to see her. As he did so, he took a deep breath and regretted it. Noxious ammonia fumes smashed his nostrils and when he looked up, the yellow floor behind the door orderlies was being mopped.

Meanwhile, she hadn't said a thing.

"Quinn," Draziw annoyingly began, "let's not do this again."

Dave leaned forward even further and saw her slowly rubbing her belly. His glances shifted from her to Draziw and back again. Repeatedly.

"Quinn!"

Finally, she looked up at him and smiled, still stroking her abdomen. "Good morning, Doctor."

"Good morning, Quinn. How do you feel?"

Her smile broadened in a maternal kind of way. "Just fine."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I'm happy."

Draziw sighed. "Why?"

Dave's eye narrowed at him.

"Because," she gently said, rubbing and rubbing, "I'm gonna have a bab-"

"No, you're not."

She stopped her hand. "Of course I am, Doctor. I can feel him or her-"

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"Quinn," he said, his voice dropping to an odd sincerity, "this is Hysterical Blindness-"

"Don't fucking say that!"

Everything changed. Patients doubled down on themselves, the door guards looked at her and only Draziw remained unchanged.

"Alright, Quinn." He said. "Alright."

And with that, her smile returned and she resumed stroking her belly. As expected, Draziw scribbled something down on his notepad.

 _Probably more drugs,_ Dave darkly thought.

"Dave?"

He gulped.

The time had come for _HIS_ "therapy".

He looked up into the typical dispassionate eyes of nearly every other doctor his sixteen-year old self had seen. And he hated it.

"Would you like to talk now?"

"Not really."

Draziw didn't miss a beat. "You've heard from your fellow patients here today. They're being helped."

 _Bullshit_ , Dave thought.

"They're getting better."

 _Bullshit_ , Dave thought.

"And talking helps the psychoanalytical approach work better for all."

Dave could've sworn, he _JUST_ could've sworn, that he heard Sebastian mutter "Bullshit" but he wasn't sure.

Dave sighed and folded his arms across his belly.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Dave fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I-I'm Dave. And I've had issues with-"

Suddenly, a loud bang and a horrible screeching noise could be heard down the hall. Stunned, Dave and many others craned their necks to see what was going on. It was obvious someone was screaming and supremely angry. Male grunts and groans could be heard and the two orderlies at the door yawned.

That's when a hulking orderly could be seen pushing someone or something towards them. And the whole time this was happening, Dr. Draziw's eyes never left Dave's.

Everyone had suddenly become nervous - except Dr. Draziw. He sat there with the detached calm of a dead deer. And right then is when she made her entrance.

The huge orderly was pushing a very angry looking black girl on a wheelchair. Her arms and legs were bound by restraints and she trained her fierce eyes on everyone, one at a time. Her hair had been straight until she caused her aforementioned ruckus and her lips were pursed.

The orderly wheeled her right beside Dave, basically across from Draziw. A nurse came in with a chart and walked up to him. The orderly folded his arms and left.

"Why," Draziw heartily began, "who do we have here?"

"Ummm..." The dumb nurse wasn't prepared and clumsily flipped the chart open, almost dropping it. "Mercedes Jones. Age sixteen. She nearly punched an orderly before three others subdued-"

"Thank you, nurse."

She left. And when she did, Dave noticed that one of the two door orderlies was gone.

He stared at her for a long moment, unnerving her a bit. Dave, who'd been watching her, admired her spirit but not her output. Finally, she tore her eyes away from him and realized the big kid next to her was staring.

"What the hell is your problem, white boy?!"

Stunned, Dave turned to his left to gauge Sebastian's reaction only to realize something shocking.

Sebastian was gone.

 **AN: Uh...oh where did Sebastian go?... Uh oh...**

 **What do you think about Sam, Quinn, Mercedes and Rachel being there?**

 **Why do you think Dave is there? There is a reason why I haven't said why he is there yet...**

 **I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. :)**

 **Anyway if you enjoyed, please review. Please be kind.**

 **If you have questions let me know. Until next time... Have a nice day!-ILOVESMESOMEGLEEX3**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hey everybody!**

 **I'm glad you stayed for this story. Thank you for the support. X3**

 **Thank you everyone who reviewed and followed and favorited. Your reviews keep me going. :)**

 **Warning: This chapter has one homophobic term used a couple of times here. Remember this takes place before the gay rights movement began so it was acceptable at the time. Also there is a reference to the civil rights movement and remember around this time the information being shared here was new and fresh in people's minds, including the cast in this story. Please remember that when you read. I'm just keeping this in time with the story and it's NOT what I feel or what should be taken from this story. OK? I'm not trying to offend anyone.**

 **Starts where last chapter ended. We are back with Dave, Quinn, Mercedes, Sam and Rachel.**

 **Also Kurt and Blaine are introduced here. More on why they were committed later.**

 **Sebastian is also back. :)**

 **Without any further interruption, lets join Dave and the gang at Lunchtime. Shall we? ;)**

 **If you have questions let me know.**

 **Please review. Please be kind. HAVE A NICE DAY!-ILOVESMESOMEGLEEx3**

 **Chapter 3**

It was probably salisbury steak. Or perhaps meatloaf. And the sides were some kind of creamed corn and…mashed potatoes? Whatever. As long as it filled his belly, Dave was fine.

He picked up his fork and glanced around. Yes, Happy Brooks wasn't all that different from other places he'd been – just A _LOT_ more security and fences.

And white. White walls, white fences, white doors, white personnel, white… _EVERYTHING_.

Growling a little, Dave cut some of the meat and took a bite. It was as if corrugated cardboard was being chewed in his mouth and no salt was available. He resisted the urge to spit it on the floor and simply swallowed. Dave figured he'd get used to the taste of hospital food _SOMEDAY_ , but that day was not that day. Besides, in between bites, he observed what was happening around him. Over a year of confinement taught him to make sure he knew how to escape if necessary…

Typical, emotionless cafeteria workers slopped food on trays as patients went down the row in an assembly line fashion. When the food was placed, a milk carton and a plastic cup of some dark juice were placed on the tray. Then, the patient carried them to the main dining area, which had _AT LEAST_ twelve guards standing at the ready. As Dave scoped the place, one of the guards eyed him with clear suspicion. Dave just smiled, put some meat in his mouth, chewed a couple of times, and opened his mouth to show him. The guard darkly chuckled but didn't take his eyes off him.

Meanwhile, Dave just ate. He was alone at his round table and he preferred it that way. It was simply safer – no one to bother him and he wouldn't bother anyone else. It made sense. There was a kind of comfort in that thought as he scooped some of the mysterious mashed potatoes in his mouth, which had a curious chemical taste to them, but he ate them anyway.

Suddenly, about four trays descended to his right, his left, and ahead of him. He resisted the urge to groan when he saw Quinn, Rachel/Hester, and Sam sit with him. And in that moment, that same surly guard who glared at him wheeled the still extremely angry Mercedes to Dave's right.

"Hi Dave." Quinn cheerily said. "This is…the core group. You've met Rach-, I mean Hester." Rachel nodded and Dave half-assed grinned. "And Sam." They nodded to each other. "And this is…well, I don't-"

"You don't need to know-!"

That's when the nasty guard shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth! She immediately spit it on his shoes and he held his emotions at bay.

"You," he cruelly began, "will regret that. You're here now, sucker. You have to-"

"I don't have to do shit, you honkey asshole!"

He smiled and leered at her. "Oh yes you do, honey. You're at Happy Brooks now."

Mercedes just fiercely glared at him as he continued to cockily smile. Dave was astonished at the level of cruelty exhibited by this guard. But as he contemplated if he could or even _SHOULD_ say something, Quinn intervened.

"We'll help her!" The guard eyed her suspiciously. "Yes, Mister. We'll…help her eat. And I promise she won't…s-spit anymore out on the-"

"I don't give a damn what you all _THINK_ you will do!" Mercedes roared, _STILL_ strapped to her chair. "If you all think you-!"

"Mercedes, please." Dave surprised himself by saying. He calmly looked at her as she simply looked at him. "Don't give them any ammo."

That did the trick. Her facial features immediately calmed and she sat back in her wheelchair. Dave looked up at the guard.

"We'll take care of her." Dave reassuredly said. Every single person at the table just stared at him.

The guard wasn't quite convinced. Instead, he gave one more nasty glare to Mercedes and left. She, in turn, stuck her tongue out at him as he walked away.

"Rachel?" Quinn asked. No response. "Rachel?" Again, no response. Dave watched them while Sam picked at his food. "Hester?"

Rachel turned to her. "Yes?"

"Switch me places."

"Why?"

"So I can feed Mercedes."

"Oh! OK!"

Rachel cheerily got up letting Quinn scoot into her white, ceramic chair. Rachel took her old chair. And soon, everybody was eating. Quinn cut some of the mystery meat and held it on the fork. Convinced that the gravy would no longer drip, she held it up in the air, a little towards the angry, confined girl.

"Open up." Quinn gently ordered. Daggers of hate flowed from Mercedes' eyes at her but the blonde girl simply took it in stride. "Open up, Mercedes."

The black girl's eye twitched a little as she stared Quinn. In turn, she simply smiled at her. That must've done the trick. Mercedes slowly and hesitantly opened her mouth and Quinn slowly put the fork in. Mercedes closed her teeth on the fork first, and then her lips. Quinn pulled out the fork and smiled even wider. Mercedes glared at every single person as she chewed.

"There ya' go!" Quinn happily said, as she changed to a spoon and scooped up some creamed corn. Dave was heartwarmed by this and everyone seemed to relax a bit.

"You know," Quinn began, feeding Mercedes some of the disgusting corn, "the doctors here are wrong."

"They are?" Dave asked, wiping his mouth and reaching for his milk carton. "How so?"

" _Welllllll_ …" Quinn drawled, tracing the spoon along Mercedes mouth and then wiping it, "I'm not sick."

"You're not?"

Quinn put the spoon down and coolly looked at him "No, I'm not."

"Then why are you here?"

"My mom and dad said I should be here."

"Why?"

Quinn grabbed a fork and played with the mashed potatoes a bit. " _THEY_ think I'm sick."

"Ah." Dave simply said.

The attractive blond tried putting some meat in Mercedes' mouth, but missed just a bit. Some gravy spilled on Mercedes' face and there were those same daggers again being shoved down Quinn's throat. But Quinn simply ignored them and gingerly wiped Mercedes' face. Meanwhile, the girl being fed watched every single person at the table with much more ferocity than Dave. He had to admire that.

"I mean," Quinn abruptly said, "I'm not as sick as say…"

"Who?" Dave asked, gulping down some milk.

" _Wellllllll…_." She tried to take a bite of the meat but couldn't stomach it. "If I ate that, I'd be as sick as those _HOMOS_ on this ward."

Dave nearly threw his milk up. "Homos? As in…" he lowered his voice, "homosexuals?"

"Yes! And don't say that so loud!"

"I didn't!"

"She'll think," Sam interrupted, "that you did if you say something naughty."

"Shut up, Sam!" Quinn exploded. The cute boy simply smiled and continued playing with his mashed potatoes. Dave didn't think he'd taken a bite of his food at all. He probably didn't.

"I know who you're talking about!" Rachel said. "It's… _THEM_."

"Yes…them." Quinn said.

"Well," Sam said, "I've met them before and they seem groovy."

"They're _NOT_ groovy!" the blonde said. "They're not!" And then, she thought for a second. "Well, maybe one of them is…"

"Who?" Dave asked, curious about everyone here for the very first time.

" _Wellllll_ …." Quinn began, feeding Mercedes again. "I like Blaine. He's dreamy. I wish he was the father of my baby."

Sam and possibly Rachel snickered just a little at the table. Quinn ignored them, favoring wiping Mercedes' mouth needlessly. Meanwhile, Dave's interest remained where it was.

"Blaine, huh?"

"Yeah… He's dreamy… But, there's a…" her voice quieted just a bit, "problem with him."

"You mean other than the fact that he's a-"

"Don't say that!" Quinn said. "I mean, he sometimes thinks he's Elvis Presley."

"Um, beg pardon?"

"You heard me, young man!" Quinn admonished. And then her voice softened in a maternal kind of way. "He sometimes thinks he's Elvis the Pelvis. When he does that, don't pay him no mind."

"Just go on," Sam interrupted, "feeding Rosa Parks here and shut up."

"Hey, shut up, white boy!" Mercedes yelled. The guard noticed but didn't move. Dave didn't like that. Meanwhile, Sam innocently put his hands up in a meek surrender, partially winked at her, and went back to making choo-choo tracks in his mashed potatoes with his fork.

"It's OK, Mercedes." Quinn soothingly said. "Shh, shhh, it's OK." She even dared to stroke the angry girl's hair. Surprisingly, she let her. The other three watched with nearly astonished expressions on their faces.

So, Dave, no longer annoyed at their intrusion, simply watched everyone. Sam toyed with his food and never really seemed to eat, although Dave did see him drink milk once. Rachel, or Hester, ate like a bird – which meant that she ate _A LOT_. He was astonished at the speed she ate. She finished the mashed potatoes first, which still had that strange chemical taste to them, and then she finished the rest. A soft burp escaped her mouth along with an embarrassed giggle. And Quinn continued to eat some but she dutifully fed the angry, confined girl. And when Dave let his eyes rest on hers, he was astounded to see that _SHE_ had already been staring at him. He felt violated for some reason but at the same time, he admired her. There was a fiery, passionate, rebelliousness to her that he felt akin to. He pretended to tip his hat to her and smiled. She, in turn, rolled her eyes and accepted another offer of creamed corn.

"Hi gang!"

Dave turned to see two guys approaching. They could've been twins practically. They had the same, in-step walk, and their chestnut hair was styled the same way – parted over the right eye and neatly combed to the sides. And as they pulled up chairs, Dave noticed one more thing.

They were holding hands.

"Hi!" the cute brunette said, "I'm Kurt." He stuck out a hand and Dave tentatively shook it.

"Hi!" the other cute brunette said. "I'm Blaine." He too produced a hand and Dave, this time, more firmly shook it.

"Did we miss much?" Kurt asked, picking at his creamed corn.

"Not really." Rachel chimed in.

"Nope." Sam said.

"No." Quinn politely said.

Only Mercedes and Dave were silent. So, Kurt and Blaine began some kind of inconsequential chatter amongst themselves that no one else was supposed to participate in, apparently. At first, Dave admired them. Until he saw they were still holding hands, under the table.

Suddenly, Dave turned to his right and saw Sebastian angrily marching towards them! Dave almost got up to stop him, but the blonde boy was not to be stopped.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Sebastian roared. "You can't be doing that in here!"

Blaine and Kurt kept eating, ignoring him. That seemed to incense Sebastian even more and Dave was worried that he'd be taken away again!

 _"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"_ Sebastian yelled at the top of his voice. "Nobody needs your infection here! What the hell's the matter with you?!"

And right at that moment, Sebastian reared back his fist!

"No!" Dave yelled, getting everyone's attention.

Furiously, Sebastian punched Kurt in the arm! The kid recoiled, put his other hand on the punched area, and glared up at him!

"What the hell are you doing?!" Kurt yelled.

"Stop holding hands, you…you…!" And with that Sebastian spit at them and abruptly marched out of the cafeteria. Astonished, Dave looked after him and then at everyone at the table. And that's when he noticed that not a single person looked up from their trays. They just kept on eating, ignoring what just happened.

And Dave couldn't believe it. A wild, primal, _FURIOUS_ anger consumed him and he glared at Kurt and Blaine! They _HAD_ to be the cause of his friend's outburst! They just had to be!

 **You ain't nothin' but a hound dog**

 **Cryin' all the time**

 **Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit**

 **And you ain't no friend of mine**

Blaine suddenly stood up and erupted into an Elvis song! His pelvic thrusts got unwanted attention from the guards and Kurt covered his face with his hands. The others, even Mercedes, just sighed. Meanwhile, the guards immediately grabbed the dancing boy and began dragging him away! Kurt looked incredibly distraught as the other boy still sang about hound dogs and crying all the time.

Everyone stared wide-eyed and open mouthed….

Except Dave – who hid a little snicker.

.

 **AN: Soooo... What do you all think? More on Blaine as we go forward. If you have questions feel free to ask. :) I'll try to answer as best as I can. Have a Nice Day!-ILOVESMESOMEGLEEX3**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hi guys!**

 **I'm an asshole for not updating sooner... Sorry. Lol**

 **Warning: This chapter is INTENSE.**

 **Throughout this story we will be** **having** **flashbacks and** **going through all characters past and how they ended up in HB.**

 **First up is Blaine and we see how he ended up in HB.**

 **Song is "Hound Dog" by Elvis Presley.** **It helps if you listen to the song while reading this. :)**

 **All I'll say for now. Please review. Please be kind.**

 **Enjoy!-ILOVESMESOMELGEEX3**

 **Chapter 4**

"Blaine?" the little boy asked.

"What?" He answered, perusing a 45-album sleeve.

"Why do they call him Elvis The Pelvis?" Alexander asked.

Blaine shook his shoulders. "Dunno. And don't be square. He's Elvis, the King of Rock and Roll. Just listen to the song."

Unfortunately, that didn't satisfy the curious six-year old with hair blacker than his older brother's. He looked at the spinning record on the old Sears & Roebuck record player. Alexander loved how something that twirled around and around could make a sound that was so incredible.

"Solid!" Alexander exclaimed.

"Shhhh!" Blaine admonished.

"No! Listen! Blaine, do you think if we spun like that, we could make music too?"

Blaine seemed charmed by the question. And annoyed.

"No, ya' dummy!" Blaine said, standing up. "Now, shut up and listen to Elvis. You like this song, dontcha?"

The boy nodded with a tiny smile on his face.

"Alright then, Alexander. I'll heat up some TV dinners in the kitchen."

"OK!"

Blaine turned and walked towards the revolving doors that led to the kitchen. The humidor was in full swing and moist air was filling the house. He crossed over towards the Westinghouse refrigerator and pulled the lever down. Its contents were full, but he grabbed two Swanson TV dinners.

Blaine yelled. "Do you want meatloaf or Salisbury steak?"

"What?!" Alexander hollered.

"Do _YOU…WANT…MEATLOAF…OR-?"_

"Meatloaf!"

"Solid. Start the record at the beginning!"

"Alright!"

Blaine turned on the stove and placed the TV dinners on one of the racks. After closing the door, he set the timer to fifty-five minutes. TV dinners took longer to prepare in the late 1950s and they didn't lose their unusual appeal as time went on. He thought about getting two RC colas out for the both of them, but their parents told them 'No soda tonight, boys!'. So, that was it. Instead, he reached for the glass container of milk and emptied it into two glasses. Then, he set the empty bottle in the rack for the milkman the next morning.

Blaine heard Alexander finally start 'Hound Dog' over again. He smiled to the lyrics and fun, upbeat sound from the other room. After he checked that he had everything all set for dinner, he grabbed the milk glasses and pushed the door open.

"Do you want-?" Blaine began. But Alexander was gone.

"What?!" the boy yelled from upstairs.

"Do you want some leftover pie?!"

 _"WHAT?!"_

Blaine sighed. "Get down here! Do you want some leftover pie?!"

 _"YEAH!"_

The sixteen year old smiled. "Alright then. Get down here. You're missing the song again!"

"I'm looking at your poster of him!"

Blaine's eyebrows narrowed. "Get out of my room!"

"Awwwwww!"

 _"GIT!"_

Blaine heard the smaller boy stomping out of his bedroom. But to Blaine's surprise, Alexander marched to his own room and slammed the door. The teenager didn't seem to mind. Besides, he was babysitting his younger brother out of obligation, not desire. He was secretly dating a very cute and surprisingly funny boy named Kurt Hummel. But this was the 1950s. That kind of thing just wasn't discussed. Ever.

The song ended. After placing the milk glasses on some wired coasters, Blaine put the needle back on at the beginning and the bee-bopping sounds filled the room. Smile on his face, he went through the swinging door again and checked the stove. Everything was in working order. He smiled even wider.

As he turned around, his eyes drifted towards the Formica kitchen table and his dad's Lucky Strikes were on the table. Curious as ever, he approached them and cocked his head to the side. Those little white sticks seemed to make his dad so happy after dinner, and sometimes before dinner. And a curious teenager simply can't be denied. Tongue between his teeth, he walked over and picked up the pack of cigarettes.

He snatched one out of the pack and boyishly skipped to the gas stove. Blaine could hear 'Hound Dog' blaring on the record player as he activated the burner. Very carefully, he stuck his mouth on one end and lit the other with the stove. He turned off the burner and inhaled deeply.

Of course, he didn't know what he was doing. He violently coughed and could barely hold the cigarette between his fingers. Doubled over, Blaine hacked his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room. After another few more volleys of coughs, he finally composed himself and stared at the cigarette. There was nothing special about it as it burned and produced a steady stream of smoke. Nevertheless, he suddenly felt like a grown-up and took another inhale from it.

He coughed once again but this time, it wasn't so bad. In fact, Blaine felt like his dad in that moment. He strutted around the room, puffing out his chest with authority. Blaine wound up by the carpeted staircase. Resting his arm on the banister, he stood beside a plant and near the antique Empire sofa. This was common in the 1950s and Blaine's family wouldn't have it any other way.

Suddenly, the music stopped, scaring the teenager. Unfortunately, Blaine dropped the cigarette and it landed on top of the soil in the potted plant.

"Darn it!" Blaine quietly said.

"Awwwwwwww!" Alexander called from his room. "I'm tellin' mom!"

"Shut up!"

Blaine looked down and saw it was lying on the dirt in the pot. Shrugging his shoulders, he simply decided to let bygones be bygones and walked back into the kitchen. There, he inspected the stove one more time. Aromas of the processed food began to fill the kitchen and Blaine closed his eyes. A kitchen should always have wonderful smells. It becomes an olfactory smorgasbord!

Some time passed. The record stopped twice and each time, Blaine dutifully placed the hit song over and over. The TV dinners had more time to prepare and Blaine returned to the kitchen, just to keep an eye on them. Of course, he didn't have to. But he did it anyway.

His thoughts drifted to Kurt. The boy sure was solid, alright. Solid as a pop! Blaine smiled at this, remembering how Kurt was an incredible singer and could recite lyrics from the new musical, 'West Side Story'. How Kurt was able to accomplish this was beyond him.

Blaine sat down at the table, propped his elbow on it, and rested his hand on his chin. He'd begun to daydream about the curious Hummel boy as fresh aromas filled his nose. He inhaled deeply.

Something was wrong. Badly wrong.

Another, more harsh, odor smashed his senses. Confused, Blaine stood up and approached the stove. The smell got stronger as he rose and he couldn't figure out of the TV dinners were burning or not. He knelt down and opened the door. No. They appeared to be almost done. Even more confounded, Blaine stood back up. The smell was even stronger…and coming from the living room.

Eyes wide, he raced towards the swinging door as Elvis sang about somebody crying all the time. Blaine blasted the door open.

Fire! The staircase, Empire sofa, and a lot of carpet was on fire! Blaine screamed as smoke filled his lungs. He coughed worse than when he tried that damn cigarette. Summoning courage, he tried to get as close to the licking flames as he could.

 _"ALEXANDER!"_

No response. Blaine was now beyond terror.

 _"ALEXANDERRRRRRRRR!"_

Again, nothing. Flames licked their way up the staircase and consumed so much carpet that the front door was blocked. Smoke became a serious problem then and Blaine had no choice but to back up. The paint on the front door was wilting from the intense heat and would soon be consumed in flames. Blaine cupped his hands around the mouth and took in as much air as he could.

"Alexander! Go out the window! Climb on the roof!"

By then, the upholstered sofa was on fire as at least a third of the living was burning. He covered his mouth and nose with his James Dean t-shirt and ran towards the kitchen. Behind him, Elvis was still singing away.

Blasting through the kitchen, Blaine ran past the stove and rounded the gas-powered water heater. From there, he bolted towards the back door.

It was locked!

Furious and completely terrified, he tugged on the door knob like a little kid.

"Come on! Come on!"

Smoke filtered in through the room and the timer went off, signaling the TV dinners were done. Wildly, he looked around the room to find something, _ANYTHING_ that would help him get out. But he couldn't find anything.

Blaine was then sobbing. He didn't want to die like this. He just couldn't!. Alexander, Mom, Dad, Kurt… _NOOOOO_!

Finally, Blaine's eyes fell on the kitchen table just as the swinging door was groaning from intense heat. He practically flew over to the table and grabbed a heavy, aluminum chair. With a guttural roar, he lifted it over his head and ran towards the back door!

 _"AHHHHHHHHHH!"_

Bam! The chair bounced off the door harmlessly. He grabbed it again.

Bam! Same result.

Bam! Again, same result.

Heat. Smoke. Flames under the swinging door. Panic, panic, panic.

 _"COME ON!"_

But this time, he turned the chair's heavy back towards him and used the legs of the chair as a battering ram. With a survival fury he hadn't _EVER_ felt, he launched himself towards the door.

 _WHAM_!

The door cracked! A primal scream escaped Blaine's mouth just as the swinging door collapsed from the strain of the fire.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

The door gave way a little and Blaine went wild. Over and over and over, he battered the innocent back door, crying and screaming. The door handle was bent, the door jam curved, and yet the oak door stood. But it was damaged and he was making progress. Slow progress. Bam! Bam! Bam!

A wave of smoke hit his face just as a chair leg pierced the door. He did it again and an even bigger piece fell away. After about five more times, the back door had a significant dent and Blaine was able to crawl through.

He was free.

Crazily, Blaine emerged from the door, scraping his elbow on the cracked pieces of wood. He didn't even feel it. Instead, he ran around the side of the house, which had yet to be consumed in flames. Rather, Blaine Anderson could only think of one thing – Alexander. He ran past windows that showed fire in the house. He ignored Elvis singing away. Using the front porch as a fulcrum, he rounded the corner and looked up.

Flames were coming out of nearly every window on that side of the house. Paint scorched, smoke rose, and a distant sound of a fire siren could barely be heard. Roof shingles melted and the front door was nearly cooked. Helplessly, he stared at the flames, knowing there was no way to get back in the house. It spread so quickly that he barely had time to think.

Blaine heard crying. He flipped his head up and in a second floor window, he could see Alexander looking at him. Neighbors showed up and stared up at the boy as well, but Blaine didn't acknowledge them.

"Blaine!" Alexander cried. The boy was standing in his bedroom window, either unable or unwilling to open it. But the teenager took action.

"Alexanderrrrr! Open the window!"

The boy cried, banging his tiny fists on it. The window didn't even crack.

 _"OPEN IT, GODDAMMIT_!" Blaine screamed.

But Alexander just kept hitting the window. Blaine didn't know what to do! He couldn't get the poor boy to understand what he wanted and fear had taken over the youngster. A fire truck's sirens were now a little louder. But a neighbor had a good idea and moved his arms in the motion of opening a window.

"Yes!" Blaine yelled, mimicking the action. "Yes! Open it!"

Alexander seemed to understand and looked at the task in front of him. As Blaine peered closer, he could see the parade of noxious smoke piling into the room.

"Cover your mouth!" he screamed to his brother. Alexander was struggling with the window and didn't hear him at all. Instead, Blaine stood there watching the six-year old trying to figure out the mechanics of a modern bedroom window. In the end, the boy tried pushing out the window on the frame. It didn't work. Then, he tried to push it up. That didn't work either. That's when Blaine saw Alexander coughing.

"Oh God!" Blaine yelled. "Get out! Get out, Alexander! Alexanderrrrrrr!"

The boy kept crying. He just couldn't get the window open as the left side of the house collapsed in ruinous flames. The neighbors took several steps back and lights from the fire truck could now be seen. But Blaine couldn't take his eyes off him at all. The boy was still trapped!

"Blaiiiiiiine!" Alexander whined, voice muffled by glass. He banged on it with his small hands, coughing the entire time.

"Alexander! Hold on! The fire truck is coming! Just hold-!"

 _WHUUUUUUUUUUUUM_!

The back half of the house exploded! The fire broke the containment on the gas valve. Neighbors, Blaine, and the first arriving firefighters were knocked to the ground. Hearing was a problem and Blaine found he couldn't hear very much as a resounding hum filled his existence. By the time he got upright, he looked back up in Alexander's window.

His bedroom was gone.

Blaine fell to his knees as firefighters rushed past him. Alone in his shock, he didn't think. He couldn't think. That hum consumed his entire being, where reality and understanding can't mix. He stared up at the flames, hoping beyond hope that what he saw and survived really didn't happen. His eyes couldn't blink. His mouth couldn't close. And when he could finally breathe a little normally, he could've sworn he heard that silly Elvis Presley song.

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson arrived. They were equally upset as well. They stared at their older son and back to the destroyed house. Then Blaine. Then the house. And finally, back to Blaine.

"Blaine?!" his dad yelled. "Where's Alexander?"

The teen said nothing. Furiously, he grabbed Blaine by his James Dean t-shirt and pulled him to his face!

 _"WHERE THE HELL IS MY BOY?!"_

When there was no response, Mr. Anderson let go and returned his gaze to the ruins of his home. Mrs. Anderson clutched her necklace and stared at it as well. Meanwhile, Blaine fell to the ground, unable and unwilling to function in that moment. A rescue worker went up to him and Blaine could see his lips moving. He was talking to him, but Blaine couldn't hear him. He didn't even bother to try.

But when a firefighter came up to him, Blaine seemed a bit more conscious then. He looked into the fireman's steely blue eyes and thought of Kurt, oddly enough. And this time, Blaine did read the firefighter's lips and could understand the question.

 _WHAT HAPPENED?_

Blaine stared at him momentarily, not quite sure how to explain everything that happened so quickly. Tragedy does that. He looked away, no longer interested in the burning house or his parents. His gaze fell on nothing and the fireman was growing impatient. Blaine turned to him and opened his mouth…

 **You ain't nothin' but a hound dog**

 **Cryin' all the time**

 **Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit**

 **And you ain't no friend of mine**

The fireman stared at him. His parents turned around and did the same.

Five minutes later, police were escorting the distraught and handcuffed teen to a police car. And as he struggled to walk with the officers, Blaine mumbled the next chorus of 'Hound Dog.'

.

 **AN: What do you all think? Poor Blaine. :(**

 **Thank you for reading. :)**

 **Have a nice day!-ILOVESMESOMEGLEEX3**


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